he morning came news by a messenger from Galeotto--news of one more
foul crime that the Duke had committed on that awful night when we had
rescued Bianca from his evil claws. The unfortunate Giuliana had been
found dead in her bed upon the following morning, and the popular voice
said that the Duke had strangled her.

Of that rumour I subsequently had confirmation. It would appear that
maddened with rage at the loss of his prey, that ravening wolf had
looked about to discover who might have betrayed his purpose and
procured that intervention. He bethought him of Giuliana. Had not Cosimo
seen her in intimate talk with me on the morning of my arrest, and would
he not have reported it to his master?

So to the handsome mansion in which he housed her, and to which at all
hours he had access, the Duke went instantly. He must have taxed
her with it; and knowing her nature, I can imagine that she not only
admitted that his thwarting was due to her, but admitted it mockingly,
exultingly, jeering as only a jealous woman can jeer, until in his rage
he seized her by the throat.

How bitterly must she not have repented that she had not kept a better
guard upon her tongue, during those moments of her agony, brief in
themselves, yet horribly long to her, until her poor wanton spirit went
forth from the weak clay that she had loved too well.

When I heard of the end of that unfortunate, all my bitterness against
her went out of me, and in my heart I set myself to find excuses for
her. Witty and cultured in much; in much else she had been as stupid as
the dumb beast. She was irreligious as were many because what she saw
of religion did not inspire respect in her, and whilst one of her lovers
had been a prince of the Church another had been the son of the Pope.
She was by nature sensuous, and her sensuousness stifled in her all
perception of right or wrong.

I like to think that her death was brought about as the result of a good
deed--so easily might it have been the consequence of an evil one. And I
trust that that deed--good in itself, whatever the sources from which
it may have sprung--may have counted in her favour and weighed in the
balance against the sins that were largely of her nature.

I bethought me of Fra Gervasio's words to me: "Who that knows all that
goes to the making of a sin shall ever dare to blame a sinner?" He had
applied those words to my own case where Giuliana was concerned. But do
they not apply equally t